Alone
by cristhekool
Summary: As Peter takes a seemingly simple train ride, he reflects on the events that led him to travel alone. Angsty, Pre-TLB. I own nothing, of course.


He lay alone in the cab, staring blankly at the countryside that passed as a blur, highlighted by early morning mist in otherworldly shades of brown and grey. Tall grasses stretched towards the sky in anticipation of dawn, a bird fluttered past as a black paint streak, lingering in his mind's eye long after it had disappeared into the night. Peter drew the blanket up further about his wide shoulders and wished he were still asleep.

Peter had discovered that if he stared hard at the wall across from him (brown with burgundy trimming) and squinted in the darkness, he could almost see Susan curled up next to the window, black hair spilling over her travel pillow, eyes closed in dreamless slumber. Her fingers were clenched about her satchel (logically, someone would try to steal it), her naturally red lips, the ones that all the lads wanted to kiss, were parted in innocence.

She was supposed to be here. Peter had no doubt of that. She had studied harder than any other girl in her boarding school and surprised everyone (and yet no one) by graduating a year early, the same year as Peter. Mum and Dad had thrown an enormous party as soon as they had arrived home, invited nearly all of London's middle-class society, spent as much as was sensible in the wake of war on party favors and fireworks.

They drew Susan away from her giggling friends and Peter from the buffet, pushed them onto the front porch. Holding their diplomas proudly high, the pair smiled together for the first time in over a year as the gathered took picture after picture. Afterwards, when the family was sprawled across the drawing room listening to the radio, Susan had leaned into Peter's side, rested her rouged cheek on his shoulder.

"We simply have to go to university together," she'd whispered softly, not looking at him, but out the window, "It wouldn't be right any other way."

He'd been so surprised, because Susan had barely spoken a civil word to him all evening, indeed all year, shunning her siblings (but him specifically) for their prolonged interest in Narnia. The warmth that flooded his soul at her statement had erased all the pain she'd caused in an instant, and he forgave willingly, wrapping his arm about her shoulder and squeezing tightly. Lucy had beamed up at them from the floor, sensing the beginnings of restitution.

It was not to last.

_"What do you mean you aren't going," Peter cried out in shock, stilling in the process of folding a sweater. Susan rolled her eyes, leaning stiffly against the doorjamb in full party wear, green dress and black heels, red lipstick and mascara. Anyone else would have said that she looked lovely, but to Peter, Susan had never been uglier._

_"I tried to tell you this morning," she continued to explain, blocking out the involuntary sounds of distress that escaped his lips, little protests that she didn't wanted to hear. "But you kept going on about how much fun we would have, and I just couldn't, Peter."_

_He had no words. The sweater slipped from between his fingers, sprawling over the open suitcase. "But…but…the train leaves tomorrow, first semester starts in three weeks. You won't have enough time to settle in if you leave later…"_

_"I've already withdrawn my application," Susan interjected gently, starting to look guilty, "I'm not going to university at all."_

_Peter sat down heavily, starting to feel the cold tendrils of rejection retake his heart with alarming speed. "Why?"_

_"Mrs. Holmes at the library offered me a job, a fine one. I do love a good book, you know," she attempted to laugh, but it came off as rather strained._

_"That's not it," Peter whispered, his voice quivering in growing rage urged on by pain, "I know that's not the reason, Susan. Don't lie to me."_

_There was silence for a moment, punctuated by the chirping of birds just outside in the apple tree. "Alright…I met someone."_

_"Someone." Peter knew where this was going._

_"His name is Robert…Sandhowler, he's a banker."_

_"Sandhowler," Peter suddenly growled, springing to his feet and advancing on Susan in a red blur of quiet fury. She stiffened in foreboding, stumbling back into the hallway. _

_"Y-yes."_

_"The bloody prat that kissed your cheek at our party? You're abandoning me, for _Robert Sandhowler_?" He grabbed her upper arms and shook her tightly, face blank._

_"Peter, stop!" She jerked away from him and stumbled backwards, chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. She'd never been afraid of him before._

_The fire drained out of Peter like poison, leaving his bones aching and his legs weak. "I'm sorry, Susan. I don't know what came over me."_

_"That's alright," she whispered, but she was lying. "The point is, that I'm staying in Finchley. It's not," she came forward and laid a shaking hand on his arm, hearing Dad's hurried footsteps on the stairs, "That you did anything to put me off, Peter, but this is my opportunity."_

_"For what?"_

_She never answered him, but smiled bittersweetly, a single tear running down her cheek. At that moment, in his deepest soul, Peter had a sudden flash of clarity. She wanted to get away. She wanted to be alone. And she would be._

_This was goodbye. This was _goodbye_. He would not know her again._

"_What in blazes is going on here," Dad said very calmly, looking between the two of them in confusion. Then he saw the red hand marks on Susan's arms, and opened his mouth to yell._

"_Nothing, Dad." Susan wiped away the tear and turned towards the stairs. "I'll be back by midnight. Don't wait up for me."_

"Tickets please."

The conductor leaned against the doorjamb in the morning light, observing the slumbering young man with a sympathetic eye. It wasn't very often that he saw lads that seemed this…this…lonely, he decided, yes, lonely. Then again, not many of them traveled alone, that could have something to do with it. At any rate, he wouldn't disturb his sleep.

The old man slid the door shut and proceeded on to the next cab. He could come back later.

Peter held his breath and waited, listening until the conductor's footsteps disappeared before sitting up and reaching into his satchel for the sandwiches and fruit Mum had packed for the journey. He bit into an apple that tasted like ashes in his mouth, and looked at his blurred reflection in the window, chuckling dryly.

High King Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley and Narnia, off to university.

Alone.

_Not so cocky now, eh?_

He blocked out the voice and closed his eyes, imagining himself in Narnia with Susan and Ed and Lucy, having a picnic on their beach, Cair Paravel shining under the sun's benevolent rays. He bit the apple again, hopeful, all his being focused on the taste, desperate for something, anything...

Finis


End file.
